Once Upon a Bad Romance
by UmbrellaBaby
Summary: Eric Northman's favorite fledgling is a little too "out there". Who is she? And what will happen when she shows up at Fangtasia in hopes of writing a bad romance?


Once Upon a Bad Romance (an Eric Northman one shot)

"Ra, Ra." Eric whispered too low for the humans in his establishment to catch. Pam, standing at his left, looked at him and cocked her head to the side in question. She hadn't caught the way the blonde woman across the bar had twitched at the whisper, but at his knod in her direction, a smirk of understanding spread across her crimson lips.

"Gaga, oh la la." she quipped.

He'd won. The comment had caused her to turn. He crooked a finger at her, beckoning. For a moment he thought she would refuse his summons. She turned back to her table and finished her drink. But then she rose to her feet balancing momentarily on shoes which were really just a pair of silver ballet point shoes with stiletto heels attached and zipped across the room before any of the humans could blink.

When she landed crouched before him, Eric twined his fingers into the limp spiral curls that framed her hair like small snake and tugged down, forcing her face upward. "Lady." he said. The title contrasted sharply with his commandeering actions.

A trembling hand moved to catch hold of the silver shades that shielded her eyes from his prying gaze and remove said screen. Her blue eyes were adorned in coal black liner and nothing else. The contrast made the eyes seem like veritable pools of innocence. But he knew better.

Much better.

He'd gotten her permission to perform, to create her 'art' as it were. The queen had agreed because his fledgling had the promise of being profitable. But things were fast getting out of hand. The latest video featured a Gaga parody of fangbangers. Dancing obscenely with a group of men and women obviously of fairy descent between fighting supernatural captors and begging for them in an imitation of glamour had driven people human, lycanthrope, vampiric and fae alike wild. Though not all were as full of praise as the music industry was. Many saw it as a mockery and many saw it as simply sinful. The humans thought she was saying they'd screw anything, just so long as it wasn't another human. The vampires said it mocked them, depicted them as low and promiscuous, overtly sexual beings. The shifters and weres said it made them seem violent.

And violence was brewing to be sure. But they were all after Eric's blood, not hers. After all, Eric had made her; it was parts of Eric's club depicted in the video.

Along with a stamp labeled "Monster" on a pure white coffin.

"Sire." she whispered, made to kneel by force, at his feet.

"You have been causing much trouble for me dear one. Your appearance as a 'musician' is one thing, but your latest video has really sent ripples throughout the waters we as supernatural beings inhabit." he kept his voice low, and Gaga even lower, crouched at his feet like a pet, her hair more effective than a leash.

How poetic, her own vanity was what trapped her in his grip.

"I am an artist." she said. Some of the humility had seeped from her tone. "What people see in my work is up to the interpretation of their own psyche. Haven't you read your Freud?" The humility was gone and so was his patience.

In a flash he'd dragged her to his office and had her by the throat. "Does Freud have a complex for something like us?" he whispered. "We're a bit too strange for even him, I think."

"E-lec-tra...." she was smirking at him even though she was being forced to choke out the word.

"Why have you even come here? You knew it would only cause more trouble."

She was huddled on the floor at his feet trembling. But when she looked up, her eyes glittered with dark mirth. Then ran her hands up the length of his left leg from the ankle, then wrapped both arms around his thigh, embracing him tightly. She purred like a cat and rubbed her cheek against the expensive material he was sheathed in.

"I want your love and I want your revenge." she laughed. He couldn't tell if it was at herself or him.

"I will not write a bad romance."

"We're already part of one."

He pulled her to her feet by her hair. "I will not be dragged into your flamboyant excuse for art."

"Are you going to hurt me, Eric Northman?"

Her hands had begun to roam his body. It was so like her. Even when she was being threatened she took the route of insanity. He tightened his grip in her hair and jerked her head backwards. When his fangs pierced her throat, it was not for the blood, he could gain no nutrition from her, it was not for lust, though the heat her hands had created in him begged him to be sated.

It was a sheer performance. A show of power. Forcing her to submission.

But lost in her essence, he found himself immersed in her consciousness as well and he found something.

"For you." she whispered. "Love, love, love, I want your love."

"I cannot give what does not exist." he said. His fangs retracted from her throat.

She did not reply to that, but took her usual route down crazy lane and tore open his pants. Her mouth covered his and he did not resist.

She screamed when he penetrated her as she had failed to when he'd merely plunged his fangs into her. He wondered briefly who was using whom in this situation. But she was such a perfect fit for him, so good, so tight and unyielding, so damned rough, he couldn't entertain the thought for long.

"Baby." he ground out roughly, torturing the ragged wound in her neck with his wicked tongue before sinking teeth into her as he gained his release. Just teeth. He kept the fangs back and the bite was somehow more carnal for it. His fledgling's own release was a wordless high note that he was sure would carry throughout Fangtasia and out into the night of Shreveport.

"You can't stay, you know that." he said after they'd recovered.

She stood and tied the tears in her gauzy pewter and silver colored dress and managed to make it look completely unlike what it was. It became art, fashion. Its short life as a garment ruined by a moment of violent passion had ended. Such was the way with his Lady. "I knew it when this started."

"Don't say it." he warned. "Hearing any more lyrics quoted by the one who wrote them will make me physically ill."

Her eyes shone again with that dark mirth. Her mouth crimson from the abuse of his lips instead of cosmetic enhancement formed the words slowly. "Bad Romance." Then she was gone. Her laughter was a mix of seduction, satisfaction and cynicism and it echoed through his office in her absence.


End file.
